Tom Lowrie

I've never killed a man,
But there's hatred in my soul
And the blood that runs through me,
Is cold.

Tom Lowrie worked the night,
On this Lord's county land,
And he never met the sunrise,
Without something in his hand,
He'd catch one for the pot,
And one that he could sell,
And he'd catch one for the constable,
Just so he wouldn't tell.

Tom Lowrie was the blacksmith,
As his father was before,
And Lowrie was an evil man,
Broken to the core,
He'd lie and cheat and laugh,
When everyone turned the other way,
There wasn't anybody, that he would not betray.

And if I had my way,
I would take my father's knife,
I'd place it to your cold, bleak heart,
And relieve you of your life.

My father worked the night,
On this Lord's county land,
Working in the forest,
With a lantern in his hand,
He could understand the need,
That could set a man to steal,
Just as he understood the meaning,
When Tom Lowrie came to deal.

Well my father was an honest man,
And his honour was not for sale,
He told Lowrie when he caught him,
He would see him rot in gaol,
The blacksmith only laughed,
And said, their fates were bound,
No peace could lie between them,
'Til one was in the ground.

And if I had my way,
I would take my father's knife,
I'd place it to your cold, bleak heart,
And relieve you of your life.

Tom Lowrie stood in darkness,
Hidden by a tree,
And when my father passed him,
He made an orphan out of me,
In the morning sunlight,
I stood crying for the truth,
The constable just shook his head,
And said there was no proof.

And if I had my way,
I would take my father's knife,
I'd place it to your cold, bleak heart,
And relieve you of your life.

I've never killed a man,
But there's hatred in my soul,
And the blood that runs through me,
Is cold.